Share of Days
by Anna S
Summary: He's like your younger brother, except you make out occasionally." GraceLuke, JoanAdam GraceJoan


Title: Share of Days Author: Anna S. Spoilers: Turns AU before Jump Rating: PG Disclaimer: These characters are the sole property of CBS. I'm just playing in their sandbox.  
  
He initiates the second kiss. You were too angry to really pay attention during the first attempt, but this time you're surprised by how gentle his lips are.  
  
Your hands find their way to his face, and it feels like what you imagined a girl's skin would feel like, soft and hairless. Under your callused fingers, even his bones seem fragile.  
  
When you pull away, his eyes are still closed and he's smiling. You remember Joan that morning, saying, "so, you and my brother. That's so weird. I mean, it's cool, but weird."  
  
She gave you a warm smile and you answered, "I wasn't asking for your blessing Girardi."  
  
A cold resentment rises in your chest and you lean in again, masking your anger as passion.  
  
*  
  
You never wanted a boyfriend. Not that Luke is one, exactly, since you'd never give him a title and he'd never dare start that conversation.  
  
Instead he slowly works his way into your life. It's rare that you find people that you have a difficult time getting angry with. Of course you snap at him occasionally, but like Adam, your automatic reaction to him is sympathetic.  
  
He's like your younger brother, except you make out occasionally. And maybe Joan was right, because that's just too weird to even think about.  
  
It continues anyway. And by the time the Science Fair rolls around, he's comfortable enough around you that he no longer stutters or sweats.  
  
"Isn't your family coming? I thought that you were like the Brady Bunch," you ask, looking around uncomfortably.  
  
"Yeah, right. Maybe if this was Kevin's football game, but they don't care about geek stuff." The lack of resentment in his voice amazes you. You're capable of hating your father for much less.  
  
There's a long silence as Luke surveys the other projects. Across the room, Joan walks in alone and waves to both of you and then hesitantly nods at Adam, who's slumped by the door. Luke waves back before turning to you with a frown.  
  
"I've been thinking that we should try to help Adam and Joan. This stupid argument of theirs really has been going on for way too long. We could-"  
  
You cut him off. "They have some weird Romeo and Juliet thing going on. It's not worth getting involved."  
  
"Fair point," he agrees, unperturbed. "Look what happened to Mercutio."  
  
*  
  
Joan asks you once if Adam ever mentions her. You pause before telling her no, not for awhile now.  
  
Her entire face drops and guilt squeezes your chest. When lunch comes around, you pass Adam your untouched bag of chips as an apology, and he takes it with a small smile and a quiet thanks.  
  
*  
  
You find them together in the Girardi living room, curled up together on the couch. Joan looks up with a smile, and Adam looks embarrassed, but not guilty. Not that they should be; not that they have any reason to feel guilty.  
  
Luke's standing behind you and he knows you too well not to notice how your body tenses and your hands curl tightly against your sides.  
  
When Adam gets angry, he spends hours twisting coils of tinfoil. Luke loses himself in labs and math problems without definite answers. You're less sure about Joan, but she probably does something girly, like brushing her hair or watching bad teen movies.  
  
You break things.  
  
You broke your door once, and your boot's tread is clearly marked on several of your walls. Your fist still has the scars from the day your mother disappeared from your life.  
  
This time, plaster and flesh don't seem to match your bitter resentment.  
  
"Grace," Luke says in a quiet voice as you turn into the kitchen. He sees your face and you know you haven't disguised your jealousy, because his eyes widen and then he nods to himself.  
  
"I guess I should've known." You don't meet his eyes when he says that. The front door is beckoning and all you want it to walk away, out of this mess.  
  
"I won't tell her," he says to your back, and then you're running. Out the door and down the block, leather coat flapping ridiculously.  
  
You go home and stare at the ceiling, and try to pretend that it'll be better to go back to being your own island, untouched and untouchable.  
  
The evening goes on and Luke doesn't call. Neither do Adam or Joan. You remember all over again that nobody breaks things better than you do.  
  
* 


End file.
